by Tween Hobo
6/22
This ham radio I built started playing NPR and I freaked out cuz I thought my parents had found me.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/23
The life of a drifter is like having recess 24/7. But without good snacks.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/24
If you are what you eat, then I am the world’s dingiest Tootsie Roll.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/25
Lesson learned. You can’t buy cupcakes with Monopoly money.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/26
Maybe Miley cut her hair and sold it to buy Liam Hemsworth a watch chain not knowing that he had sold his watch to buy her a fine scrunchie.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/27
I could murder a Snickers.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/28
If you ask me, the phrase magic beans is redundant.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
6/29
Opened cupboard, found Indian. #ItJustGotReal
Great American Poems
(by Tween Hobo)
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And I have to wear my stupid retainer when I sleep.
* * *
I took the road less traveled by.
And that is why I will probz have to repeat 5th grade :(
* * *
Because I could not stop for Death
I fell off a pipe and lost Super Mario Galaxy 2 for Wii
* * *
I saw the best minds of my generation
Do just fine without Ritalin on school holidays and weekends
* * *
This is just to say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
And also
I drank the purple stuff
O Captain! My Captain! @RealCapnCrunch
* * *
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you
If I can’t have a vampire-theme bat mitzvah
Daddy, Daddy, we’re through
* * *
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or does it sparkle
Like Edward Cullen in the sun?!?!!?
* * *
13 going on 30 ways of looking at a blackbird
* * *
I sing the body electric
I do the electric slide
* * *
so much depends
upon
me
doing the chicken dance
Some Immature Things That Hobos Do
When I skipped town and left fifth grade, I thought I was leaving certain kinds of foolishness behind me. But it turns out that most hobos be actin’ like they in middle school. Here are some of the typically immature things that hobos do.
• Hobos be claiming they have a retainer when it’s just a straightened-out paper clip.
• Hobos be talking at the same time and then they go “jinx”!
• Hobos be trying to write PEN 15 on my hand like that’s funny.
• Hobos be calling their hair blond when it’s just light brown.
• Hobos be slowly “turning up the volume” on their middle fingers.
• Hobos be like, “Your epidermis is showing.”
• Hobos be like, “Stop hitting yourself,” as they’re slapping me with my own hand.
• Hobos be cliquey.
• Hobos be asking each other, “What’s your favorite dinosaur?”
• Hobos be stressing out about cooties.
• Hobos be dating all these secret camp girlfriends in Canada.
• Hobos be pairing up for three-legged races.
• Hobos be making their calculators say BOOBS.
• Hobos be snapping bras.
Is the national anthem considered a slow dance?
Fourth of July
* * *
Happy birthday, America!!!!!!!! It’s motherflipping INDEPENDENCE DAY and I’m charging through the Nevada desert on this bucking bronco of a freight train, with my T-shirt tied up so my midriff shows, wearing six pairs of sunglasses at once. Because IT’S A FREE COUNTRY, folks!!!! That means you can get your ears pierced twice on one side and once on the other! That means the government only keeps a few extra copies of all your emails! That means YOU CAN WEAR PAJAMAS TO THE MOVIES.
I tell you what—if the English actor Robert Pattinson, who portrays Edward Cullen in the Twilight movie franchise, were to board this train right now and offer to fly me away on a private jet to Buckingham Palace, I would straight-up decline. “Not today, Robert Pattinson,” I would say. “Not today.” Here’s the thing about British people: they have such good manners that they thought it was proper to fight a war wearing bright red coats. Meanwhile us “rude” Americans discovered a little thing called “camouflage,” hid in the trees, and beat the crap out of them. And camouflage is still trendy today. What’s the moral? Eat with your hands, don’t say thank you, and you’ll be a global superpower for at least a few centuries until China takes over.
America looks different from a freight train. TBH it looks kind of more boring. I mean, sure, there are the majestic vistas, the amber waves of grain (#nofilter), the mountains and the trees and the rivers and the prairie. But you don’t see as many advertisements. And I love advertisements. I like to know what video games are rated M for Mature and which products are now available with a hint of lime. I try to stay absolutely up-to-the-minute on which toys now come with which meals. I like to know there’s a lawyer I could call one day in the far future if I was to suffer a workplace injury.
I like to think that all the happy families in the advertisements live in one insanely happy town where all the moms wear fresh khakis as they load up the backs of their SUVs and all the dads burst in after work with piping-hot buckets of fried chicken and everyone goes on affordable vacations and all the kids get everything they want.
One of my favorite things to see in an advertisement is a fake to-do list. It’ll be written in perfect mom-handwriting, and maybe the golden pen the imaginary mom used to write it will be lying there, askew, atop the digitally rendered day planner. The list will say something like “Pick up Jessica at flute practice. Water plants. Talk to a State Farm insurance representative about all my options.” When I see a list like that, I get a little choked up. Because the mom is taking such good care of her family. And doing it with such brisk elegance. That Jessica is a lucky girl, to have such a mother.
Speaking of moms, I got a text from my mom yesterday. It said, “Your tweets are lots of fun. Sounds like you’re doing some real hands-on learning. Don’t forget to take your medication.” That was it. Not a word about coming home. Not a word about my brother. Total zombie text. The more I looked at it, the more I felt there was actually something kind of spooky about it.
Or no. Maybe spooky’s not the word. Maybe it’s more like suspicious. Maybe this is one of my mom’s psychological tricks. Like she thinks if she just plays along with this whole thing and doesn’t act like it’s inappropriate that I’m on a cross-country sleepover party for infinity-plus-one nights with a posse of vagrants, maybe I’ll just lose interest in the whole thing and come running home to her. Like if she acts like she doesn’t care where I am, maybe I’ll just get to thinking about that one super-smushed-up corner of the couch in the TV room where, when I cuddle up in it, I feel like a baby pillow pressed up against some kind and warm adult pillows. Like I’d ever get homesick for that.
Well, even if I did get homesick for that—even if maybe I’m crying a little bit right now because I miss my mom a lot—I can’t go home. Not yet. I have to find my brother. And I’m close. Another night or two and we’ll be in California! Where, who knows, we might just run into Justin Bieber at a 7-Elev
en or something! And then also I have to figure out some way to reunite Stumptown Jim and Mr. Brink. Jeez, I’ve got a to-do list. Fetch me my golden pen, Jessica!
Plus, who cares about TV-room couches when you’re stretched out on the deck of a freight train zooming through the Nevada desert on the Fourth of July. Toothpick Frank just tossed me a mostly not rotten peach. All the tensions between us about who’s BFFLs and stuff have melted away in the summer sun. We’ve settled everything, and the upshot is we’re all going to be buddies for life. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but the farther we ride, the more I’m starting to get the feeling I know What Makes This Country Great! #USA #Freedom #StarsNStripes #OldGlory #NissanSalesEvent!!!!
You never step in the same river twice, which is why it’s so important to Instagram everything.
Tween Hobo
7/16
I think I might be the voice of my generation . . . or at least the voice of a gang of tramps that just got ditched at a Frisco depot.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/5
Life is like one crazy-long badass field trip.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/6
That thing where you stab a knife real fast between all your fingers, and also you have a mani with an accent nail.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/7
If a Snapchat disappears in the woods, does it make a ringtone?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/8
She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she FEELS like it OKAY.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/9
These hop fiends are ravin’ but tain’t nothin’ compared to how bad I want the Biebz.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/10
’Bo sleepin’ next to me goes, “Shh, railroad dick’s out patrollin’ ”—and I totes snarfed juice through my nose like, Ew, you said dick.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/11
Down at the milk depot I’m all, “Do you have soy?”
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/12
Shingles #IGotThis
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/13
Dysentery #IGotThis
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/14
Singin’ “Polly Wolly Doodle” 24/7.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/15
Woke up this morning with a firefly hangover (that’s what you get when you stay up real late watching fireflies).
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/17
What is America’s stance on the atomic wedgie?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/18
Siri, find me “Single Ponies” who are “Dappled” and like “Prancing.” #graphsearch
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/18
Now searching “Prairie Dogs” looking for “Activity Partners.”
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/19
If Little Women was written today, it would just be called Tweens.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/20
Snuck into public library to research Ninja Turtles; power went out; spent the night; saw a ghost; power came back on; Donatello’s my fave.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/21
Will I ever get to have a bromance?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/22
Best part of a county fair is the rides; no, it’s the livestock; teach the controversy.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/23
Morse code. Still a thing?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/24
Someone’s in the kitchen with Demi Lovato.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/25
Every raffle I enter is an emotional roller coaster.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/26
Sneezed. #blessed
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/27
When detectives take selfies, are they dick pics?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/28
Have you sent your mom an emoji today?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/29
Forever 21 used to be called 23 Skiddoo.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/30
Me, my selfie, and I.
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
7/31
What is this “Space Jam”?
Tween Hobo @TweenHobo
8/1
Occupy Claire’s.
Why, back in ought-six we had scads of penguin movies, simply scads.
Advice to Hollywood
I’m pretty much an expert on pop culture and I’ll be straight with you: best picture I seen this year was the symbol for “hot soup” carved in the dirt outside the station in Reno. So listen up, Hollywood, because I’ve got some suggestions.
Movies
* * *
• Next time we remake Spider-Man, let’s focus more on Charlotte’s web.
• Tell ya what movie I wanna see: Biscuits ’N’ Gravy 3D.
• Hobbit schmobbit. Wake me up when they release a three-part epic of Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great.
• Once I’ve seen Frankenweenie, ParaNorman, and Hotel Transylvania, how will I have any regions of the human experience left to explore?
• Let’s face it: Home Alone was the peak of American culture.
• You gotta go full Lincoln.
Television
* * *
• Wither (sequel to Blossom). #depressingsitcoms
• If I starred in a TV drama, it would be My So-Called Hard-Knock Life.
• Pitch: downtrodden rag dolls trying to make it on a personal and professional level in my new show, I Just Want My Petticoats Back.
• Just FYI, Thomas the Tank Engine presents a pretty sugarcoated view of railroad life.
• Bums kinda respect you more if you got HBO Go and you’re willin’ to share it.
Reality
* * *
• My new reality show is about dandelion seeds. Which one will be the last to blow away? And are they here for the right reasons?
• Based on what I’ve seen of reality, The Bachelor should be about a surly fisherman who mostly keeps to himself.
• They should make a Teen Wolf that’s a documentary about an actual, very cool, very handsome teenage wolf. #justthefactsplease
Celebrities
* * *
• Been there, Halle :( RT@Gawker Halle Berry Will Miss the Oscars Because She Broke Her Foot Chasing a Goat
• Gwyneth Paltrow, dang, I ain’t seen a lady that skinny since I hopped the westbound overland outta the Dust Bowl.
• Anne Hathaway’s got a good old-fashioned case of ants in her pants.
• Hollywood is rough. One day you’re hot, the next day Quvenzhané Wallis is three years younger than you and your tin can never rings.
• Chain gang’s more work than Ben Affleck’s marriage.
Celebrity Baby Names
* * *
• If Kanye named his baby North West, I’m gonna name my baby Thata Way.
• Why the heck did Beyoncé name her baby Blue Ivy? I tumbled in a patch of that once, itched like blazes.
• Snap, Crackle, Pop, Knox, and Vivienne.
August 4
* * *
Los Angeles, California
Los Angeles. City of palm trees. City of sunshine. City of . . . death.
Folks, the situation is grave. I am gravely ill. In this city of glitz and tans I lie ashen and pale. My breathing is ragged, my cheeks aflame, my body speckled with a foreboding rash. Eleven and three-quarters years old and I may not live to see twelve. Illness has come and tapped me on the shoulder and wrapped its terrible arms around my small life. It’s not consumption that I suffer from, nor mumps, nor tuberculosis. It is an ailment on a whole other level. Just when I was so close to finally finding my brother a
nd restoring my family to health, I’ve come down with a dreadful case . . . of Bieber Fever.
My nurses (Stumptown Jim and the other guys) move trepidatiously in and out of my sickroom (which is a public restroom on Venice Beach). They fear I may slip away at any moment. My vision is half-gone by now, which means I have fifty percent more in common with Blind Hank than I used to. My hearing is not in great shape either, but that might be because I routinely listen to my iPod way too loud. Tin Cap Earl crouches beside me, beginning the laborious process of teaching me, with my new disabilities, how to “finger-spell.” B-I-E-B-E-R, he spells on my palm. B-I-E-B-E-R.
My descent into this awful sickness began as soon as we hopped off the train in Bakersfield and began to hitch our way south. As we rambled down the sunstruck highway, a great billboard loomed over our heads. The billboard was mostly purple, but for the beautiful peach outline of a certain youthful pop idol’s perfect face. It said JUSTIN BIEBER. STAPLES CENTER. BELIEVE. I just about fainted dead away. By which I mean I jumped up and down and screamed and did six cartwheels. “It’s happening,” I panted. “It’s really happening! Justin! Live! His hair! His hoodies! Oh my God—what if he brings me onstage for ‘One Less Lonely Girl’?!?!! Oh my God. We have to go. We HAVE TO GO!!!!”
